


The Third Garden

by ssunrise



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 03:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssunrise/pseuds/ssunrise
Summary: In which misunderstandings are reconciled and wings are cleaned.





	The Third Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suzzzan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzzzan/gifts).

Aziraphale was deeply absorbed - mentally in a book of poetry and physically in a large, soft armchair - when Crowley poked his head into the library. 

“I’ve got something to show you. Put on your swim trunks,” he interrupted.

Aziraphale laid a finger gently on the page to mark his place, reluctant to leave his niche. He met Crowley’s eyes with a puzzled look. “We went to the beach yesterday, my dear. Isn’t it a bit early to go back? I think you got rather more than enough sun already and you know that form does more burning than basking when you stay out too long.”

Crowley huffed. “I know that. And we’re not going to the beach. Just put on your swim trunks.”

Aziraphale still hesitated. “But why-“

Crowley crossed the room in a few lanky strides and grabbed a bookmark off the desk. He stuffed it into the book of poetry, brushing Aziraphale’s hand out of the way and closing the book gently but insistently. “It’s a surprise. Just trust me, you’ll want to see it. Now go change. Please?”

“I- well- alright. Be right back.”

~

“Angel, are you listening?” 

“What? Oh, I’m sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale’s gaze snapped back to Crowley. “Just, er, got distracted.”

“By what?” Crowley craned his neck to look around the plaza. It was nearly empty, save for a few tourists, who definitely weren’t interesting enough to distract the angel from a good meal.

“Oh it’s nothing. Really. What were you saying before?”

“I forget. What were you looking at?”

“The fountain.”

Crowley turned to look at it. It wasn’t very impressive, except in size. The marble was chipped and the paint had seen better days, but the water leapt to twice the height of the stone before arcing down in a sparkling dome into the basin. He turned back to Aziraphale, one eyebrow artfully arched in confusion.

“It just reminds me of, well, Upstairs.”

“Woulda thought you all had better interior design up there. Seems a bit dingy in my opinion.”

“Not the color. More the... function?”

The eyebrow crept further toward Crowley’s hairline. 

“Well. You know. You can’t just wash wings our size with a human-sized shower or bath. Lakes and the like are rarely clean enough, not to mention private enough down here. I usually have to settle for a quick miracle every so often. It’s not a problem because they don’t really get dirty while they’re tucked away but still I- I miss it, I guess. Properly cleaning them. It’s relaxing.” 

Aziraphale glanced over to find Crowley’s expression unreadable behind his sunglasses.

“Oh, well, I guess Down There your lot doesn’t tend to, er, worry about cleanliness. Though you don’t seem to follow quite the same dress code.”

“You’re not the only one who can have standards. Pride is, in fact, a sin. Plus, I’ve never been particularly good at following orders as studiously as you.”

Aziraphale was not sure whether to take offense, so he settled for a noncommittal hum and returned to his plate of crepes.

~ 

“Hey, angel, can I ask a favor?”

Aziraphale looked up from the box of books he was unpacking. He could already tell that it would likely take a miracle for all his books to fit in the new library of the little cottage. “Of course, my dear.”

“Would you mind staying out of the garden?”

The request caught Aziraphale by surprise. “Oh,” he replied. “Alright. May I ask why?”

“I just want a space that’s, you know, mine. I was thinking, since you have the library, I might want somewhere that’s my area. Just in case, well, I need some time to myself.”

“Oh, of course. Yes. That makes sense,” Aziraphale assented, forcing a pleasant smile to push away the confused look on his face before it could turn into one of worry.

“Cool. Thanks.” When the door clicked shut behind Crowley, Aziraphale sighed. He knew the ideas of boundaries and privacy were good, but it still felt like he’d just pulled a Go Back 3 Spaces card in the game of getting along with Crowley. But Crowley was right. Of course. It would have been crazy to expect that after centuries of living apart that they would suddenly spend every minute together. Aziraphale had seen down crowded it was Down There. Crowley’s minimalist apartment made it clear how much he disliked close quarters, Aziraphale reasoned. Just because they had decided to share the cottage didn’t mean they were ready to change their lifestyles so dramatically and so quickly. Hopefully, they would change, though. Hopefully. Eventually. Aziraphale shook his head, banishing his concerns to a far corner of his mind to stew, and lifted the next stack of books out of the box.

~

When he returned downstairs, Aziraphale found Crowley, similarly clad in a pair of black swim trunks and his usual sunglasses, pacing back and forth across the sitting room. He stopped at the sight of the angel, all his nervous energy suddenly distilled into one point of focus. He swept over and offered his hand to Aziraphale, as if inviting the angel to dance. “Ready?” he asked.

“I think so,” Aziraphale answered, gently taking the offered hand. He caught a glimpse of a grin before Crowley turned and whisked him through the back door. To his surprise, Crowley did not turn toward the driveway and the Bentley, but rather marched straight forward, toward the backyard. As the rose-twined fence around the garden loomed closer, Aziraphale slowed reluctantly. 

“Crowley, are you sure...” he began.

“What?”

“What are you-“

“Oh shut up and come on. I told you it was a surprise.”

Aziraphale swallowed the rest of his questions and followed Crowley to the gate, where the demon fumbled and nearly dropped the key while trying to unlock it one-handed, his other hand unwilling to let go of Aziraphale’s. When he finally managed it, he tucked the key away and then set his hand slowly, almost reverentially, on the gate. He looked back to Aziraphale, his face serious but his eyes shining over the tops of his sunglasses, which had slipped down his nose. Then he opened the gate.

The first thing that Aziraphale noticed was how green it was. The second was an overwhelming sense of deja-vu. Countless varieties of vibrant trees sprouted throughout the garden, and most of the remaining space was occupied by gorgeous flowering shrubs of every imaginable color. Every plant swayed gently in the breeze, seeming extraordinarily alive. It looked exactly like Eden. In the center, a wide path of dark rich soil was left open leading to The Tree. Well, not exactly The Tree. A fountain, shaped like a huge apple tree, sprouted from a large basin and stretched toward the sky. From each burnished golden leaf, a fine spray of water leapt toward the ground, making it appear as if the tree sat under a heavy rainstorm.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed.

“It’s probably rather sacrilegious to recreate one of Her most famous creations, so I decided I absolutely had to do it,” Crowley declared. “What do you think, angel?”

“Oh, Crowley, it’s lovely. I can’t believe- oh, I was such an idiot.”

“What?”

“I thought... well, I thought you were avoiding me. All the time you spent out here I thought it meant you didn’t like living so close to me. I thought maybe I had misjudged our... I made a mistake. I’m sorry. Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for sharing your space with me.”

“Oh, forget about that. This place is as much yours as mine. I just didn’t want you ruining the surprise. Now come on, you have to try it.”

“Huh?” Aziraphale tried to ask, but Crowley was already on the move again, tugging Aziraphale along. The ground here, dappled with swirling puddles of sunlight, was softer than anything he’d trod upon in years. 

“I figured after everything that’s happened you probably won’t be going back Upstairs for a while,” Crowley began. “and I remembered what you said about your wings that time in the plaza. You probably don’t remember it, but it got me thinking. I couldn’t find anywhere good to put it, though, until we got here and by then I figured hey, I’ve got the time, why not go all out?”

They stopped by the edge of the fountain basin. Up close, it was even more magnificent. Every leaf was textured, artfully wrinkled to imitate the veins in a real leaf, which split the water into droplets so fine and glittering they could have been small gemstones. Crowley looked over at Aziraphale. Aziraphale blinked, impressed yet still befuddled. 

“Oh, come on, angel. Get your wings out,” he suggested, pulling his own into reality behind him. Aziraphale followed suit, but it wasn’t until Crowley stepped into the fountain that the purpose of everything clicked into place. The garden. The fountain. Upstairs. The swim trunks. Not the beach. The cottage. The plaza.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. Crowley chucked as Aziraphale squeezed his hand, almost tripping over the edge of the fountain in his haste to follow Crowley in. The water was refreshingly cool, like an early spring breeze that had meandered into summer. As it seeped through his feathers, Aziraphale could feel the layers of dust and grime, some of them so old they felt like part of his wings themselves, sliding away. The stress - of the Apocalypse, of the trials, of everything - went with it, washed away in a peaceful flow. He stretched his wings this way and that, making sure the water reached every feather, reveling in the feeling. 

A soft, unguarded smile settled across Crowley’s face as he watched the angel preen. Aziraphale, pausing for a moment, caught a glimpse of it and flushed a light pink. He beamed back at Crowley, and then a playful glint sparkled in his eye. Crowley, caught off guard by the radiant sight of his angel, didn’t quite have the reflexes to dodge and Aziraphale’s wing, dipping into the water in the basin, launched a spray of water up at him. The water knocked Crowley’s sunglasses clean off and absolutely ruined his artfully tousled hairstyle. 

“Hey!” Crowley protested. He launched his own counterattack, but Aziraphale, anticipating it, was able to dodge, and even got a second strike in against Crowley. Ten minutes later, thoroughly soaked and bedraggled, they came to a truce, gasping between bouts of giggles. They sat down in the fountain’s basin, cross-legged and face to face. Aziraphale, without even thinking about it, lifted a wing over Crowley’s head to block the rain-like spray of the fountain. This time, Crowley was able to mirror the gesture, his wing gently brushing against Aziraphale’s as he completed the canopy above them. 

“Thank you, Crowley.”

“You’re- ...welcome.”

“I’m sorry I assumed the worst of you. And if you had really wanted some time to yourself, I would have been wrong to be so... clingy? However much space you need to yourself, you can have it. The garden, the house, the Bentley, just let me know. You can be wherever you want to be, alone if you want to be. Okay?”

“Okay,” Crowley agreed. He paused for a moment, brow furrowing slightly in thought. “Y’know, angel, there’s only one place I really want to be, if you’re all right with it.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale replied brightly.

Crowley leaned in, watching Aziraphale for any sign of discontent, and laid the barest hint of a kiss on the angel’s lips. “Right here.”

Aziraphale’s breath whooshed out of his lungs and for a moment, he couldn’t move. He could only stare at Crowley.

“Is that all ri-“

The rest of Crowley’s question was lost in Aziraphale’s mouth as the angel surged forward and kissed him back. There they remained for the next few minutes, acclimating to the feeling of the other’s lips on their own, a feeling as comforting as a daily routine yet exhilaratingly foreign. 

Aziraphale pulled away slightly, just enough to lean his forehead against Crowley’s and murmur, “That’s perfectly all right, my dear.”


End file.
